Same song, verse eleventy-billion: it's Friday and there's still no football this weekend. But because the internet will break down from lack of use if we don't banter about . . .something . . .I am pleased to present Free Form Friday, the Telly Savalas of weekend open comment threads. Who loves you, baby?
Maestro, the soundtrack:*
In a lot of ways this is the cruelest Free Form Friday of the year. It's the one where football is so close you can literally taste it. There's actual season-altering football news to be found, even if a lot of it isn't that new. Boo Malcome continues to look like the smart bet to start at tailback for the Bulldogs. Da'Rick Rogers might in fact actually have a bad attitude. Urban Meyer eats two kittens and a spoonful of granola for breakfast every morning. Okay, I haven't independently verified that last one, but I feel certain it will have been confirmed by this time next year.
Yes, football is so close that I am willing to do all sorts of things to push toe toward leather that much sooner. I'm talking bargain with the Devil kind of stuff, man, things I wouldn't necessarily be proud of, but which I would be willing to do for the greater good. This isn't an exhaustive list, but off the top of my head, if it meant the next week would fly by in the blink of an eye . . .
I'd be willing to polish every bowl trophy Notre Dame has earned in the past fifteen years. Both of them.
I'd be willing to look Will Muschamp straight in the eyes and risk petrification.
I'd be willing to invite Kwame Geathers and John Jenkins over for a steak dinner.
I'd be willing to talk about SEC scheduling with a South Carolina fan. Again.
I'd be willing to attend an Oak Ridge Boys concert with John L. Smith. But I wouldn't let Bobby Petrino drive us there.
I'd be willing to take a road trip to Montana with Stewart Mandel in search of interview subjects. Because The Five Mandel Fans You Meet In Montana is the crappiest tome in the Mitch Albom catalog.
I'd be willing to transfer to Penn State.
I'd be willing to do squats in the Iowa Hawkeye weight room.
I'd be willing to wash Trooper Taylor's towel. In formaldyhyde.
I'd be willing to hold Nick Saban's stepstool while he reaches up to the middle shelf for more oatmeal creme pies.
I'd be willing to listen to Paul Johnson lecture me about what a brilliant offensive strategist he is. I'll be the guy sitting next to Calvin Johnson. We'll both be the guy rolling his eyes.
What would you be willing to endure to hasten the start of college football in these last, exquisitely excruciating days of the offseason? Inquiring minds want to know. Have a great weekend, and, until later . . .
*I've heard it argued in the never-ending discourse about updating the music played in Sanford Stadium on gameday Saturdays that "Right Hand On My Heart" should be a part of the pregame soundtrack. I'm not saying it should, but I'm also not saying I would object. Unless it takes up the precious space reserved in perpetuity for Elton John's stadium-rocker "Tiny Dancer." Because that one will get you jacked up.